The Beautiful is not chosen.
The chosen becomes beautiful.
The Beautiful is not chosen.
The chosen becomes beautiful.
Please do not forsake me now,
sparkling gone
with darkling days.
I drift at times, I know it's true,
but I always drift on back to you.
The Beautiful is not chosen.
The chosen becomes beautiful.
I have never tired of
manna falling from above.
When conscious thought
meets careless heart
and two lost souls find one fresh start.
Lie with me upon the earth
feel its curve beneath our spines,
soon we'll follow it around,
one lost soul
finally found.
The Beautiful is not chosen.
The chosen becomes beautiful.
These are known as darkling days
rhyming schemes gone askew,
crackling gifts of light and air,
exploding worlds,
ours to share.
The Beautiful is not chosen.
The chosen becomes beautiful.
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